Outlook: Ask again later
by Sir Chris
Summary: Based loosely off of the play "Julius Caesar", we take a view into the mind of one troubled man, in a sea of many such men.


A/N: For anyone who gets alerts when I submit a story, this is probably going to be a bit weird. I have taken a departure from comedy mostly because my computer kept crashing every time I tried to write a new chapter. Hope anyone who reads this enjoys it and gives some feedback, thanks.

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**Outlook: Ask Again Later...**

We knew why we were here. Everyone had their place. It was preordained. We all gathered because we had to do it. Something deep within us said it was a need. We didn't just gather though. We watched it all. We watched it with glee. Glee is not a word used often; Glee is pure in its concept, the unrestrained and open for all to see delight. We, the miserable species known as the human race, are taught to suppress ourselves in front of one another. There is no other way to describe our culture. Openness is a direct rebellion to the status quo, even if we war with ourselves. Those who go against it only dare to do so in the private of their own miserable lives. Failing that, their rebellion is simply a product of the status quo, a reflection of what is expected from us. These people are no different, just the other side of the same coin that is humanity. So given all of that, why do we dare to show our delight? Because no one is watching us. Deep down we are aware of our shared emotion. Deep down isn't a place we often visit though. Us, the spectators of this cultured and accepted brutality, do not care to watch each other. We do not care to see that we are really just one collective. When we are here, we all cheer in unison. The sight of blood only makes us scream louder. We check our fanfare at the door. Intellect would merely get in the way. Status quo doesn't need to be paid attention to if no one is paying attention to you. Why act civilized if there is no audience to silently clap at your performance?

We sat there and watched the two men fight to the death. Death had already settled in for the day. The stench and presence of the end of life hung over this place as clearly as the blue sky above us. These fighters were proud warriors who had served our nation faithfully. However, the nobles of Rome do not care for heroes of the past. They do not even care for the heroes of the now save for the attention and sexual favors that they can provide. They fight wars, they return champions. They speak their minds, they are stripped of everything it means to be a human in the Republic of Rome. Now they are dogs. Dogs who had dared to bark at our beloved Emperor; beloved most in his own mind and in the dirtiest and most crime ridden streets of our great city. The soldiers were only voicing their concern. However Rome did not have room for the voices of good, brave men. Not when they spoke against the emperor. Not anymore.

I watched more blood spill out of the taller man as his arm was cut deeply by the other man's sword. His left arm appeared to be barely usable. It hung limp at his side as his good hand gripped on the sword he was using, channeling the pain into strength. The shorter and darker skinned man just looked on with a look of unabated disgust on his face. He abhorred what he was doing as much as the crowd approved of it. Hs pride could not be stripped away by lashings. He was as mentally tough as he was physically strong. He was a Roman.

The fighting had come to a stop now. The men before us are eyeing each other, although they have afflicted wounds on each other, their spirit to carry on this savagery seems to be at an end. The crowd grows restless; perhaps their blood haze has lifted with a break in the battle. As the shouts to continue begin to spread, however, I realize that it isn't the blood haze being lifted, it is now needing to be sated once again. I look to my left and see a woman who has a look on her face more suited to the bedroom than this public venue. Her eyes are barely open and she is moaning in pleasure. Her breasts are heaving as her breath is obviously ragged. The senseless violence before her excites her to the point of physical pleasure. This is how far Rome has fallen.

I look at the Emperor who is as composed as ever, his eyebrow arched in either curiosity or amusement, at this angle I cannot rightly tell. He was always a man who did not let formality stop him. When he was a mere man, I admired this greatly about him. Now that the plebs see him as a God of the people, and I fear more and more every day that he believes this himself, I grow to fear and hate him for it. I can honestly say that I love this man despite his best efforts to transform himself into a monster, but I can also honestly say that I love the people of Rome more, despite their shortcomings. This republic was founded on the people, and it will always remain so as long as I have any influence, which I plan to be for a long time to come. The Emperor rises from his seat and the crowd quickly falls into silence. Their vision may be hazy, but they realize why these men are fighting to the death before them. One does not interrupt the emperor.

"Gentleman before me, I admire your great affection for dramatic flair. However, if you do not mind, I will have to insist that we finish this promptly." The crowd roared in approval at the Emperor's not so subtle command.

The two men crossed swords again, knowing that one of them was going to have to die. Their movements were fluid, not betraying their injuries already sustained in the least. Only five years ago I too would have probably enjoyed this sight, thought it poetic even that they battled before us. It is a burden to my heart to not be able to be proud of my fellow Romans, but a burden I am willing to carry.

The shorter of the pair stumbled for a moment and it was the last action he did without a sword in his stomach. His face showed shock for a moment before there was nothing for him to feel, the wound instantly fatal.

Romans do not linger anywhere long. This is no different. They roar for a moment, they clap and cheer. After that they leave, not caring that the winner is likely going to die himself. They have had their entertainment for the day. They leaved pleased with the Emperor for arranging such a fun event. My disgust could not even be described by even the greatest of the Gods.

I see the Emperor heading towards me and force a smile to my face. He loves me so much, I understand this. A dangerous man he most certainly is but he is not without kindness and humanity.

He embraces me in a hug and kisses both of my cheeks lightly. He talks to me, and he seems upbeat, which lightens my heart despite myself.

"Brutus, I do hope you enjoyed the show?" This isn't a rhetorical question; Julius Caesar does not ask rhetorical questions.

"Yes, it was certainly brutal enough." Caesar responds with a laugh as he pats me on the back.

"I am glad you had a good time. I must apologize my friend, but I have matters of state to attend to, if you will excuse me?" I give a nod and he smiles once more and leaves me to myself.

I worry for Rome more and more by the day. However the smile on my friend's face eases me. He has never been an enemy of Rome. He would not do her any intentional harm. He is a man of reason just like myself, not the picture of madness that some choose to paint him. I will not kill Julius Caesar . I refuse to even consider it. He is a good man who is loyal to Rome and her citizens. I will not end this good man's life.

I won't.


End file.
